Red Thread
by Shini02
Summary: Oneshot. RP–based. Osaka–centric. He could be her hero. The seventeen year old virgin x an OFC.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except this fic. Nadia belongs go neko_youkai04, and has allowed me to play with her for a bit.

**A/N:** You know that seventeen year old virgin from Osaka? Well, I took a shine to him and decided call him Shinobu. Just so you know. VIRGINS NEEDS LOVE, TOO.

* * *

**Red Thread**

The first time they meet, it's his second time in the game and the ball faxes her in with a bunch of other dead people. She's blonde and busty and Miss April of Playboy, and it's quickly revealed that she should have spent money on some miracle brain transplant instead of those D-cups. She has no idea what's going on and just doesn't seem to understand that no matter how hard she tries, the other players just don't understand what she's saying. Except, he does. He's not perfectly fluent, but he's taken English classes and he does what he can to help her out, instructing her to put a suit on and take a weapon.

She thanks him, introduces herself as Nadia and nickname's him _dotei_ because she'd heard everybody else calling him that. He introduces himself as Shinobu, tries to tell her _dotei_ means virgin and it's not a nickname, then quickly gives up when he sees her eyes beginning to glaze over. He supposes he doesn't really mind, even if it is embarrassing, and nickname's her _usagi_ before the game starts.

Out in the playing field, she decidedly clings to him, an action that doesn't settle well with Kuwabara, who wants her all to himself and swears he'll fuck her before the night is through. She's oblivious to his crudeness, and Shinobu thinks it's for the better. If she knew, she'd probably only throw some kind of fit because girls like her like that, and they certainly don't sleep with men like Kazuo Kuwabara. The sex-fiend aside, because they have a horde of aliens to worry about, Shinobu surprises himself as he stubbornly protects her at the cost of one arm and a fair amount of blood.

When it's over, after they've been scored, she follows him outside. "I have nowhere else to go," she tells him, and her apartment's all the way across town, too far to go at this hour of the night. So he does the gentlemanly thing and offers her to take her home. When she accepts, puts her hand in his, marveling at the sturdiness of the restored arm that had been torn off barely half an hour ago, he smirks to himself. Kuwabara never managed to lay a finger on her, and here he was, a seventeen year old virgin, leading a Playboy model home by the hand.

* * *

His mother calls her a whore the moment they step across the threshold, waving one hand up and down in front of the scantly clad, voluptuous body. His father, on the other hand, ushers the two of them upstairs. It's late and they both look exhausted, and he knows his son better. This girl isn't here at this late hour to screw Shinobu senseless, regardless of what his mother thinks.

Upstairs, Shinobu offers her the bed, says he'll take the spare futon and sleep on the floor, and she's alright with that. Once the lights are out, she strips down to nothing and climbs in between his sheets, and he feels childish for sleeping in pajamas. It takes a lot of willpower not to look over at the bed, to try and find and trace the outline of her hips and breasts under the thin blankets. It takes even more willpower not to turn around when she crawls onto the futon with him and wraps her arms around him, pressing her forehead between his shoulderblades.

"I'm scared," she whispers, and his heart beats faster. "What if those monsters come back?"

He takes one of her hands in his, holds it to his chest and whispers back a simple, "no."

It hits him very suddenly, but the urge to protect her is mind-numbingly strong and he swears he will never let anything hurt her.

* * *

Over the course of time, he falls into the roll of her protector all too easily. When they're in the game, he's at her side, following her, covering her, nearly dying on repeat occasions for her. Miho and Sumiko laugh and tease him, saying that's one way to impress her and get into her pants. When he tells them that's not it at all, they both laugh and wave him off; why else would be putting his life on the line for such a klutz?

So he thinks about it, long and hard late one Friday night with Nadia beside him, already asleep. Her head is on his bare shoulder, her arm wrapped loosely around his waist with her hand tucked under his hip. Her breath is soft and warm against his chest, and he realizes weeks ago he would have been a stiff as a board and a nervous wreck in this position. But now, at this very moment, he is calm and relaxed, as though this is the most natural thing in the world.

She shifts, ever so slightly, giving him a little squeeze before she relaxes against him again. She murmurs _dotei_ in her sleep, and his heart skips a beat.

He can't believe he hadn't realized it before, but everything suddenly makes a lot more sense now.

He's in love with her.

* * *

Apparently, she's not as dumb as she looks, because she figures it out soon enough and confesses that she has feelings for him as well. It is an awkward moment that passes thereafter, the two of them sitting in silence, blushing and smiling and fidgeting like shy children. Then she leans in to kiss him, as she has so many times before, but this time the kiss lands on his lips and not his cheek.

"You're the first boy to want me for me," she says with a smile.

He doesn't tell her she's the first girl to want him, period, but he smiles back all the same, nodding.

"I love you, Dotei."

He decides he will never tire of hearing those words, nor will he tire of saying them back.

"I love you, Usagi-chan."

* * *

Their first time is in a hotel and it's clumsy and awkward because, while she's definitely done this before, he hasn't and she has to tell him what to do. But in time they do it all; they screw and fuck and make love, and he'd never known there could be a difference until now.

Fucking is nice, but he prefers to make love, and he's sure she does, too.

* * *

The day she gets a call from America is the same day she starts packing, because she has a contract and she was never meant to stay in Japan forever.

At the airport the next day, she continuously glances over her shoulder as she walks away from him. She's crying, softly, in an oddly refined manner for a girl like her, and it breaks his heart every time she looks back. He wants to look away, but he can't, for her. He has to be strong, like every other time.

And then he hears it, the strangled, high-pitched moan-like-whine, followed by the clicking of expensive heels against polished tiles. All he can do is open his arms to her, then wrap her up in them after she latches on and hides her face in his shoulder.

"I can't," she says through her sobs, sad and embarrassed and angry. "I can't go. I can't. I won't!"

So they go back to his house and she makes a few phone calls. When all is said and done, she practically squeals in delight as she tackles him to the bed. A contract is being worked out and she's here to stay for as long as she wants.

He doesn't say anything, but he promises that if he can, he'll never let her go.

* * *

It all comes down to this, a mission completed and two scores of one hundred points. They should be rejoicing, but they're both silent as they stare at the options displayed on the screen. They don't want this anymore, so freedom sounds like a good idea, until they realize they'll forget each other.

"I... I don't wanna fight anymore," Nadia says quietly, catching a pink-painted lip between her teeth. "But..."

Shinobu doesn't look at her, only takes her hand and squeezes. "No more fighting," he whispers, because they're lucky to have survived this long, and while the other players might enjoy this game he certainly doesn't, and one round was more than enough. "No more."

"Dotei," she chokes out, and he doesn't need to look up to know she's crying. "I..."

"Usagi," he says softly, tries to sooth but his voice is cracking, too. "Shh. Is okay. Is okay."

Together, they choose to be free, choose to forget.

He goes on to graduate high school and college at the top of his classes, and when schooling's a thing of the past he sets his degrees and certificates and diplomas aside to write science fiction novels. He writes stories about alien invasions and beautiful girls who need saving and are waiting for Mr. Right to come along and sweep them off their feet, futuristic fairy tales.

When the reporters ask what inspires him, he tells them, "dreams."

But he knows there's more to it than that, he just wishes he _knew what_ that something more _was_.

* * *

"Excuse me?"

He doesn't look up as he signs another book for another fan. "Yes?"

"I... I came a long way to see you, and I have a question."

The voice is vaguely familiar but he can't place it to a name or face, so he brings his gaze upward to the woman's face. Something inside twists and knots and makes his blood run cold. "Yes?" he inquires, going about this as professionally as he can because he doesn't want to cause a scene in front of a crowd.

She looks a little lost and nervous, and she's wringing her hands together as she stares down at this man in front of her. "Do you remember me?"

And it all comes rushing back in an instant. The urge to protect, the immense love, the horrible suppressed memories of grotesque aliens that had birthed so many of the nightmares that have plagued him over the last few years. He's awestruck, because here she is, the one's he's tried so hard to recreate and capture and love in his novels.

"I dream about you," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "All the time. And I was hoping that, maybe, you dream about me, too."

"Nadia," he says, and to remember her name again and say it aloud for the first time in years is a wonderful feeling. "Usagi."

"Dotei," she breathes and smiles and cries as she throws herself at him. The crowd around them is quiet for a few stunned seconds, but then they cheer and applaud, not entirely sure of what is going on, they only know that it's something beautiful.

He holds her awkwardly from across the small table, burying his face into her shoulder and her hair. "No more dreaming," he whispers, his grasp on the English language far better than she remembers.

"No more dreaming," she repeats, and it's a promise.

He makes that same vow again, to never let her go – and this time, there's nothing stopping him.

-End


End file.
